Despite what he knew of this dangerous woman, Jack Benson felt himself touched.

“What is going to become of you, Mademoiselle?” he asked.  “Will you be dragged down in the snares that have entrapped your confederates!”

“I do not know.  How could I know?” she asked, looking quickly up at him.  “Yet, if my accomplices escape, and find that I have served you, my Captain, do you know the forfeit they will exact?”

“Your life?” whispered Benson.

“Yes!”

“Then, if I can, I am going to help you to escape them,” promised the submarine boy.  “Yet that can happen only on your most solemn word—­given, pardon me, in a moment of absolute honesty—­that you will never again play the spy, for the secrets of the United States Government.”

“Oh, I will promise that,” replied Mlle. Nadiboff, quickly.  “Yet I hardly need to.  After what I have done, just now, no one in my peculiar line of work would ever trust me again.  I shall be shunned, hereafter, if not destroyed, by those who have worked with me.”

“I shall do my best to get you safely away from Spruce Beach,” promised Jack Benson.  “Have you more to say to me, Mademoiselle?”

“Nothing, but good-bye, my Captain.”

She held out her hand.  Once more Jack took it, bending low over it.  Tears shone in her eyes, but Jack did not see them, for he turned, going back to his friends.

Not until they were well away from the parlor did Jack Benson offer any account of the interview that had just taken place.

“Let me have that envelope, then,” requested Jacob Farnum, gravely.

“What are you going to do with it, sir?” Jack asked, as he passed it over.

“Do with it?” repeated his employer.  “I’m going to take it to the nearest druggist, and find out what the stuff is.”

“We’d better take this latest news to our friend Trotter,” suggested David Pollard.

“By all means,” nodded Farnum.  “And I’ll meet the rest of you there.”

The little house wherein the Secret Service, men had taken up their headquarters was not far away.  When the inventor and the submarine boys rang the bell Mr. Packwood admitted them.

“Step right into the next room,” advised Mr. Packwood.  “You’ll find some one there you know.”

A the submarine folks entered the room they saw Trotter seated at a table on which were writing materials.  At the other side of the table standing very erect, and in a very respectful pose, was the Japanese, Kamanako.

CHAPTER XXIV

CONCLUSION

“Good evening, honorable gentlemen,” said the Japanese, turning when he heard the new arrivals entering.

“Mr. Kamanako is going to leave us,” announced Trotter, with a smile.  “He goes north to-night.  Here is the slip of paper, my boy, that will take you past any meddlesome inquiry.  But it is good only until midnight, so I advise you to be sure to catch to-night’s express.”